Find the sky
by Shmeeko
Summary: He should have let the youth go, then and there.  But no, far more than his pride had been damaged by this encounter, he'd make the kid pay – even if it was only with a goddamned "thank you for saving my miserable life."
1. Flight

The flutter of an erratic heartbeat was loud in his ears, muffled by the thudding of heavy feet on cobblestone, heard only under the cries of rage and sorrow from the woman just in front of him. His wrist, small but firm under the protective press of her fingers, served as the tether between the two. She ran, her worn flats scraping ungracefully along the stone as she towed her cargo closer and closer to the water. He followed as quickly as he could, being more dragged by the frantic woman than lead by her.

Though he could've easily found his balance and taken control of his own pace to run alongside the woman, he did not, for he did not see her. He saw only shapes and blurry forms as they whipped by, heard only the baritone of the voices yelling behind them but not the words they carried. His mind was dominated by the smell of rope and wind and the lingering sounds of creaking wood in an otherwise silent courtyard.

"Boy!"

He felt warm arms envelop him, their rapid quivering jarring him further. He shut his eyes tightly as the warmth curled around him, a feminine voice shrieking threats and swears he could remember exchanging with his friends on the schoolyard not three hours ago.

"My boy, I want you to run," said the voice in his ear, hushed but nevertheless urgent. "I want you to run from this place as far and as fast as your legs will take you. Fly like I know you can. Fly like a Passerini, _passero_."

He was released, pushed away from the warmth and into a flurry of colours and sounds. He fell back on his rump, his vision finally clearing to the sound of a single, bloodcurdling shriek.

"_Madre?_" With horrified wide eyes, the blonde boy watched as his dark-haired mother crumpled to the cobblestone, blood pooling in her hand from a gaping wound in her gut, the dagger she'd been desperately trying to fend off her attackers with still clenched tightly under white knuckles. "_Madre!"_ Forced out of his haze by a red reality, the boy scrambled forward to the prone body of his mother, who still tried desperately to pass words from her lips but lacked sufficient energy to do so. Her eyes, blue as the sky above them, fixed once more on her boy before the light of life was drained from them for good.

Unable to help himself, the boy shrieked.

"Little brat," hissed one of the men who stood about the scene, his sword not the bloody one, but withdrawn nevertheless. "Pick him up, we'll sell him to the traders."

One of the men approached the hysteric boy, unknowingly triggering an instinct the boy wasn't aware he had. In a flurry of motion and nerves, the child wrenched his mother's dagger from her hands and stabbed it forward at the hand that reached for him. The blade pierced parallel to the flesh of the man's hand, right between his ring and middle finger. The howl of pain that burst from his lungs made any nearby flinch in alarm. His little attacker lunged forward and pulled the man's sword from his sheath, holding the heavy weapon awkwardly in both hands but looking driven enough by a terrible hysteria to manage it anyways.

The captain of the small patrol stood back, watching the child with wise eyes.

The less experienced soldiers would not care enough to observe, but it was clear to the captain that the boy was blinded. Not by any physical force, but by the mental trauma of the past few, hectic moments. Here he watched a wild cub, not quite old enough to know the true embrace of independence but not young enough to be entirely reliant on his guardians, fight for the lives he couldn't save. He no longer cared for his own – no, the frantic attack of his guard was proof of that. In his last, hysteric moments, the young boy simply looked to gain some revenge for what he had witnessed.

A father on the gallows.

A mother on the floor.

Both gone.

The boy swung, trying his hardest to properly maneuver a blade far too heavy for him and clearly unable to hit any of the targets he aimed for. It was pathetic. A cub with the will to fight but no claws to brandish. He was a waste of time and an entertaining spectacle no longer.

"Kill him."

* * *

><p>The shriek that drove others away was like a beacon to Ezio.<p>

The man turned towards the sound, perched precariously on the corner of a rooftop overlooking the city. He focused his attention in that direction as his body already moved to investigate. He leaped from the roof to catch himself on an under hanging lamp and launch himself to the next roof. A second, masculine shriek put an urgency in his step. He flew across the rooftops, heading towards the waterfront, his robes billowing out behind him from the sheer velocity of his travel. He stopped only to avoid running right off the edge of the roof and into the water.

The smell of blood rose up from below him, but the smell was not nearly as nauseating as the sight of the source.

A woman lay sprawled on the concrete, blood colouring her front a brilliant red. Standing in front of her corpse was a boy who wildly swung a sword too big for him, missing the soldiers that stepped back or out of the way. The captain watched from a safe distance, uttering only two cold words into the chaos.

"Kill him."

As if obeying, Ezio leaped from the rooftop with that very thought in mind. His weight crashed down upon the captain, his hidden blade already buried in his neck. He rushed forward in time to catch a soldier who had lifted his blade to strike by the shoulder, spin him around and drive the same blade into his neck. Ripping it to one side, his effectively flung the corpse in the same direction and cleared his weapon. The other two soldiers quickly shared a similar fate, one sporting a new hole between his collarbones and the other carrying a crossbow bolt in his throat.

As the last body fell to the floor, the dark-clad assassin turned to the child, both surprised and amused to find him still swinging.

"Little warrior," he called with what he imagined to be a sympathetic smile, "you can lay down your arms now, no more danger will-"

Ezio quickly lifted his arm to catch the heavy blade swung downwards at his shoulder. He caught the metal within the palm of his climbing glove. He looked down to the boy, noting that his eyes were closed and his cheeks wet with tears. Red flecks could be seen in his blonde hair, red that could either be traced to his mother or the guard with the bloody hand lying dead on the floor.

He closed his hand completely around the blade and wrenched it from the boy's grip, who opened his eyes in surprise and jerked forward with the motion. He stumbled, caught only by Ezio's swift arm in his path. The blade was tossed aside as the boy backed up, eyes now wide with fear. The assassin knew what he was thinking.

He didn't know who this man was, but he was dangerous to have taken out the guards.

"Easy there," said the man, noting the youth's hostile expression. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The blonde boy glanced down to the body of his mother. His face seized up with pain and he turned to run. Ezio stepped in his path.

"Relax," he said again, more forcefully. The boy turned to run again, stopped when Ezio reached forward and grabbed the back of his shirt, practically throwing him to the ground. It hadn't been an intentional act of violence, but it seemed to only give the boy more motivation to attempt to escape. He scrambled on all fours until he could rise, sprinting away. Ezio overtook him quickly, putting himself in the boy's path once more.

This time, the boy paused only for long enough to bring the toe of his boot right into the assassin's nether regions, missing his armor in the worst possible places. Try as he may, Ezio could not remain completely composed. He stumbled, expression strained as he bit back a hybrid cry of pain and rage. The boy wove around him and continued to run.

Now, he _definitely_ wasn't getting away.

Ezio drew in a long breath between his teeth and turned, managing to find enough composure to run properly after the boy, if not a little slower than he had been moments before.

Honestly, he should've just let the boy go then and there. He'd already expressed a lack of gratitude and an absence of desire to associate with his savior, the assassin should just let the kid carry on his merry ball-kicking way. But no, far more than his pride had been damaged by this encounter, he'd make the kid pay – even if it was only with a goddamned _thank you for saving my miserable life_.

He'd just begun to catch up to the fleet footed kid when the stranger did something odd. With familiar grace, he hopped up onto two boxes and leaped to an overhanging lamp, scrambling to drag his body atop it and then launching himself towards the roof ledge. Ezio followed as the child pulled himself onto the rooftops and continued to run. Intrigued, Ezio found himself slowing intentionally, now wondering what other surprises the kid was going to pull.

He followed the boy as he raced across the rooftops. He stuck mainly to the small gaps between buildings and only climbed things he could manage easily with his height, and every landing was not without a slight stumble. These things told the assassin that the boy he chased was not formally trained. He was just naturally following the instincts that told him to leap this way or that. Impressive, really, but an understandable talent.

Eventually, the chase came to a halt when the boy reached a gap he was not confident enough to leap. He hesitated on the edge and Ezio slowed. It was likely the boy didn't have the strength to make the jump or catch himself should he miss.

"Stop this," called Ezio, startling the boy. "I only want to talk with you."

"I _don't_ want to talk with you, _stronzo!"_

The child received an unimpressed look for his word choice, a look that simultaneously noticed that the boy was still crying, despite his strong words and stubborn expression.

"Please, I'm just looking for information on the hanging today. Perhaps you could help me with that?"

It was really only a wild guess on Ezio's part, but the boy's reaction told him he'd hit his mark. The blonde narrowed his eyes and turned away, neglecting to remember that those actions did nothing to hide the fact that he was crying if he still went to rub at his eyes.

"Or perhaps it is you who _needs_ to talk?"

"_Vaffanculo!"_

The boy jumped.

Ezio hid his surprise, but not the urgency of his sudden dash forward, wondering what he could do to prevent the streets of Roma from creating a puddle out of the boy when he hit the stone. He skidded to a halt at the edge, unsure how he felt upon seeing that the boy had landed safely on a balcony on the opposite side of the street and was now leaping from lamp post to lamp post away from him.

Part of him was impressed, the other part annoyed, while a third part wondered whether or not they could call it a day and just go home now.

The assassin followed regardless, crossing the gap in one practiced leap and tailing the boy just above him. Just as Ezio was deciding it was well past time to stop playing with the child, the blonde suddenly leaped into the street from his perch. It was a far less precarious a jump, but to the untrained runner could be a painful landing. He hopped down onto a post and watched at the boy landed headfirst – not into the cobblestone, but into a wagon of hay being quickly pulled along by a lively horse and his rider. The boy swam up to the surface of the hay, poking his blonde head out from the like-coloured straw and directed a sky blue gaze to the assassin who watched from above.

The boy, even with his tear-stained cheeks, still found the nerve to tilt his head back and flick his fingers at the man along his chin, mouthing yet another curse to the man who remained perched above, but was not moving to follow. Ezio did not grant the boy the pleasure of a visual reaction, but he was annoyed at the brat's behaviour. Was he satisfied with letting the pint-sized pain escape from him in a wagon after sacking him? Not at all.

Slowly, he stood up and watched the wagon and the boy within it turn a corner. His eyes narrowed before he turned and stepped back up to the rooftops, readjusting his course as he deemed necessary. He didn't have to follow the boy – he had a feeling he knew where he was going.

* * *

><p>It was a while before the boy emerged from his hiding place, unaware that the dark-robed assassin was perched carefully just above where the boy stumbled out of a haystack. It was not the same haystack that had served as his medium to escape his earlier pursuer, as he had transferred to a stack closer to the stables and closer to his end destination. In that smelly pile of horse feed the boy waited for the sun to set.<p>

What he did not take into his calculations was the fact that guards frequently poked at the haystacks, very familiar with the possibility of a criminal hiding within them. The boy met no such problem, however, as the guards who approached the stack were lured away by a nearby commotion or a glimpse of an assassin in the crowd. When the boy stumbled out into the streets once more, the city was dark and quiet.

Under the cover of night but almost oblivious to its embrace, the boy staggered down the street, ignorant to the shadow following him above. His tired feet brought him to the town square, where he hesitated in the darkness and looked out to the moonlit clearing. The boy made a sound like to sobbing and continued forward, each step an immeasurable challenge to the quivering youngster. He stopped when he hit his knees, just before a raised wooden platform which stood ominously in the moonlight. Hanging from a thick, wiry rope was the body of a man who swung with the wind.

Ezio watched from the shadows of an alleyway – watched as the boy sobbed and screamed weakly, only to hush himself desperately and bury his head in his hands, continuing to shake and shiver. The assassin was about to move towards him when the boy suddenly looked up. The moon illuminated a determined look, bathing the child's figure in silver as he pushed himself to his feet and staggered up the stairs to the body.

The child tugged on the man's legs, as if trying to somehow dislodge the rope around his neck. Sobbing quietly, he tried stretching up to reach the rope, tried pulling the man's body down, tried throwing a nearby block of wood at the support from which the rope hung. He tried over and over again, Ezio unable to do anything more than stand and watch, immobilized by sympathy.

Finally, the boy surrendered and crumpled to the platform with another wave of sobs. It was then that Ezio found the will to move.

"Is that your father?" he called into the light, stepping out from the shadows otherwise silently. The boy jumped in surprised, scrambled to the edge of platform as if he intended to run again. Instead, the boy grabbed the loose wooden plank he'd thrown earlier and leaped off the platform, standing protectively in front of it – between Ezio and the man who hung there.

"That's enough," Ezio said firmly, "I do not wish you or your father harm. I only look to help." Holding up his hands to show his peace, the assassin continued to advance, walking right past the boy who stood stone still in hostility and ascending the steps with slow, respectful movements. He curled one arm around the corpse's waist, and with his free hand swiftly launched a throwing knife past the rope that bound him. The rope snapped and the body fell lifelessly into the Italian's arms.

Ezio cast a look back to the boy, who watched with awe from the ground, then moved to approach the youth. He set the body carefully on the ground at the boy's feet. The boy looked from the corpse to the assassin, as if unsure how to proceed.

Equally unsure, the man could do little more than nod, which seemed to give the boy permission to crumble to the floor over the body of his father. He sobbed into the man's cold chest, his cries muffled by the fabric of his shirt. The assassin waited, allowing the boy a few minutes to exude his sorrow, before crouching opposite him and ghosting his fingers over the man's face, closing the eyes that stared blankly ahead.

"_Requiescat in pace,"_ he muttered, simultaneously drawing the boy from his sorrow.

"W-what do I do?" The boy asked, his voice shaking and weak. This was a far cry from the stubborn little brat who'd been bounding over the rooftops earlier that day.

"Your mother and father should be put to rest, no?" The boy nodded, swallowing a sob and biting his lip. "Is there somewhere they can be buried?"

"M-my family has a tomb...on the outskirts of the city...th-there." Ezio rose, unsurprised by the young hand that swiped out to grab the bottom of the man's robes. "N-no!" The boy cried, before catching himself outside of his earlier defiant demeanor and lowering his gaze to his father with a frown. He still held tightly to the man's robe, but when he spoke again he was careful to keep the desperation out of his tone. "C-could you help me? I cannot carry the...the bodies across the city on my own..."

The man whistled, the sound drawing at attention of his nearby horse, who came bounding from around the corner at the call. The beast clicked to a halt beside the pair, following which Ezio lifted the body of the man from the ground and put him cautiously on the back of the equine creature.

"Come," said Ezio, "we've not much time before the guards' patrol finds the gallows robbed of their latest spectacle." The man lead the horse away by the reigns, the boy slowly going to follow with a last, loathing glance back to the gallows behind them.

* * *

><p>The pair traveled in silence. They retrieved the body of the boy's mother from the street where it had been carelessly shoved out of the way and against a wall. Then, they swiftly crossed the city to the outskirts, where the boy asked the assassin to wait for him at the gate.<p>

"This is something I want to do alone," the boy had said before leading the horse into the graveyard, stubbornly refusing to wipe at the fresh tears that began painting his cheeks and disappearing silently into the haze of early morning. When the sun had at last cleared the horizon, Ezio moved to check on the child, not surprised to find him kneeling between two plots, his head bent and whispering words of prayer to the wind.

"What will you do now?" Asked Ezio, somewhat wary of the answer he would get. "Where is the rest of your family?"

The boy broke his prayer, sat back on his hindquarters and let out a dry, bitter laugh.

"Family?" he growled, left with no more tears to accompany the words. "My parents were all I had." The youth gestured to the plots around them, though he did not look back to the assassin. "_This_ is where the rest of my family is."

"Then you have nothing but opportunity left for you, boy."

Another dry laugh.

"Opportunity, of course."

Ezio frowned and lifted his eyes to the family headstone but a few feet away.

_Passerini Da Roma_

"To find a bird, one only needs to look to the sky," Ezio read the inscription on the stone aloud. Without missing a beat, the boy continued the proverb.

"To find the sky, one only needs to look to a bird."

Slowly, the blonde stood, looking so heavily weighted down by the events of the past few hours. Ezio put a hand on his shoulder, not surprised to find it shrugged off as the child turned away and stalked down the hill.

"So what will you do?" Ezio asked the boy, unmoving atop the slope and staring into the youth's back. "How are you going to find your sky?"

The child clenched his fists at his sides.

"I'm going to learn to fly," he hissed, "and I will drop the Borgia from the height I ascend to."

The man felt himself smile as he followed behind the boy, stopping just behind his unmoving body and speaking down to him, never without that smile.

"You are late, little warrior, the liberation of Roma has already begun." Slowly, the boy turned and lifted his grim expression to the assassin. "...And you are so young."

"My youth will be my weapon," returned the boy. "As you do, they will underestimate me. That will be their undoing."

"I did not say I underestimated you."

"You implied it."

"Perhaps. Or is it you who are inventing such claims?"

The boy scoffed and his gaze hit the ground. He looked about ready to storm off once again. Ezio couldn't help a little chuckle.

"I see myself in you, little warrior." Once more, the man put a hand on the boy's shoulder, pleasantly surprised to see the boy did not brush it away or shrug it off. "You are angry, and wish to avenge the deaths of those you care for. I understand this." The boy stubbornly glared at something off to the right, refusing to answer. "But you lack the skills to survive. I've seen you handle a blade, and I can't say I'm impressed."

"I will learn!"

"How?"

The boy bit his lip and retracted his angry stare.

"Do you intend to practice on the Borgia guards? I must say, I don't think they handle civilian rebellion with kindness and understanding." Ezio bent at the waist to meet the boy at eye level. "However," he continued, "I _have_ seen you fly, and I _am_ impressed."

The boy looked away, but this time out of embarrassment more than annoyance.

"You are young and foolish and could do with an attitude adjustment,"

"_Ipocrita,"_ hissed the boy.

"But if you are willing to learn, I am willing to teach you."

"_Voi?"_ the boy scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed – trying to sound as if he didn't _need_ the help. The image of vengeance he'd crafted in his mind did not involve being bossed around by an overconfident, bible-toting old geezer. "What makes you think _you_ are suited to teach _me?_"

_Oh, this one is quite the character._

Instead of falling into the boy's childish debates, the man simply smiled and patted the youth on his shoulder. He stepped to the side and walked right past the boy, whistling for his horse as he headed for the exit of the yard. He could feel the boy's confused stare on his back.

"If you truly believe yourself above my teaching, _Passerini,_ then I wish you the best in your conquest against the Borgia."

Ezio approached his horse and, in a show of talent purely to impress, leaped into the saddle by vaulting over the horse's hindquarters. He seized the reigns in both hands and turned back to the boy a final time.

"If you change your mind and decide you're not above the advice of the likes of myself, visit Tiber Island. You may be surprised at what you find there."

With that, the man flicked the reigns and the horse took off, tearing out of the gates and leaving the youth standing confused in the rider's wake. The boy watched the man and beast vanish into a blurr on the horizon, after which he turned his gaze skyward, his green-eyed stare finding the dark shape of an eagle against the blue. The bird circled above him, crying proudly into the air before it too banked, moving as if to follow the man as it soared for the horizon.

_To find the sky, one only needs to look to a bird._

* * *

><p><strong>Thoughts would be immensely appreciated. I don't know if I'm going to continue this, I do have a lot on my plate. So thoughts of encouragementunadulterated rage are appreciated.**

**WHO ELSE IS STOKED FOR REVELATIONS?**

**(This is probably how I'm going to kill the time until the release date P:)**

**This is set probably some time before Cesare's death, dunno exactly when. Was inspired by the little kid on the dock who was crying for his mum**


	2. Youth

It was some time before the blonde-haired brat crossed Ezio's mind again.

In truth, the ill-mannered child only occupied the assassin's attention for a day or so following their first encounter. When the kid didn't show up weeping and apologetic on his doorstep, Ezio decided to let his focus drift from the little warrior. It's not that he didn't care for the stranger or the situation he was in, he just had so many more pressing issues to deal with, issues that determined the lives or deaths of many. Despite knowing that becoming a disciple of the brotherhood was undoubtedly the best choice for the orphan boy, Ezio lacked the desire and the time to chase after him and drill it into the youth's thick skull. If the boy truly wanted revenge and truly wanted to survive, he would turn up eventually. Until that time, Ezio had more important things to worry about.

Over the lapse of a few busy weeks, the man had put the boy into the back of his mind. It was safe to say he'd temporarily forgotten him, too preoccupied with the demanding life of _Il_ _Mentore da Assassini_. After all, the man didn't even have a real name to put to the face. All he had was a family name that he could only just remember as something to do with sparrows.

"Intel should be on the top of our list. To put it simply, we do not know enough about the enemy we fight. I've tracked the location of an important courier for the Borgia. I know where he will be and when. The information he carries could greatly aid our forces. Obtaining his knowledge should be a top priority, Ezio."

"But of course. Though it is only a courier. It may be worth the experience to have one of the novices chase him down."

Niccolo frowned pointedly at the experienced assassin.

"And if they fail?"

"They will not fail. Trust in our brothers and sisters, friend."

The informant opened his mouth as if he intended to say something, only to pause in consideration for a moment and shut it. He let out a pointed sigh and nodded, sitting back in his chair in surrender.

"Just ensure that whoever you send is a little more than just a novice."

"Very well, if it makes you feel better."

Ezio returned the unamused look he received with a charming smile, only to have their exchange interrupted when La Volpe swept through the door.

"Ezio," he called, commanding the man's attention even before he asked for it. "We've caught a thief."

There was a moment of stunned silence in which Ezio and Niccolo exchanged a puzzled look. The master of thieves was reporting a captured thief? Almost simultaneously, both males turned thier quizzical looks to the fox.

"Not one of mine," he elaborated in a smooth tone.

"Ah," Ezio rose from his chair and approached La Volpe in a leisurely fashion. "So what has our thief friend attempted to steal?"

"A weapon from your blacksmith."

"Not the smartest thief if he is attempting to steal from the brotherhood," remarked Niccolo from where he sat, rapping his fingers against the desk. "And it's not exactly in our nature to take prisoners..."

"Perhaps the theft was a dare," joked the dark-clad assassin with a dry laugh, "where are you keeping him, and why spare his life? "

The fox shifted as if in thought, turning to accompany Ezio as the pair excited the drafting room and headed down the hall, towards the tunnel entrance.

"Well, he is not our usual brand of thief. We were...unsure how to handle him. We thought it best to seek your advice."

"My advice?" echoed the Florentini, "whyever would you-"

The man stopped himself when they turned the corner, his dark eyes zeroing in on the small shape sitting slouched in a chair just by the tunnel entrance. Two, gray-hooded novices stood over him, gossiping idly to one another as if their prisoner wasn't even there.

La Volpe noticed his comrade's hesitation and turned.

"Is he familiar to you?"

Ezio grunted.

"Perhaps."

When the high-ranking assassins approached, the novices turned and bowed, clearing their path just as swiftly to stand off to one side of the hall in silence.

"My," remarked the armored assassin in a thoughtful tone, though not without a sly smile, "at first, I thought I recognized this little thief, but..."

The aforementioned 'thief' lifted his head, his olive eyes widening at the sight of a familiar face under that hood. The surprise lingered on the youth's face for a few short lived seconds before it melted away to annoyance and defiance. La Volpe made a curious noise behind him.

"...the little one I remember did not have quite such dark hair."

True enough, the boy's hair was a thick, oily black, and upon placing his hand on the kid's head, Ezio realized it was as he assumed: a very poor dying job.

"_Vaffanculo_," muttered the boy, jerking his head away as his stare hit the floor. The novices exchanged a glance of bewilderment, while the fox nearby let out a dry laugh that almost sounded like a series of coughs.

"You know this poor-mouthed urchin?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"I'm not sure," Ezio returned slyly, "he looks familiar, but I feel as if the child I know would be a little more creative with his choice in insults."

The fox chuckled as the assassin circled around the boy, catching his defiant, challenging stare and only able to look upon it with amusement. His hands were bound loosely behind his back.

"Did he put up a struggle?" Ezio asked, eying the ropes.

"He did," one of the novices spoke, stepping forward, "but nothing we couldn't handle. He is not a threat, _Mentore_."

"I did not think he was."

The boy muttered what could have been another curse, but he did not speak clearly enough to be heard.

"Well then, _passero_-"

"_Passerini_," the youth corrected curtly.

"-What brings you to Tiber Island?"

"Not _you_," the thief scoffed, as if reading the man's mind. "I came to get a weapon. I was told by a merchant I know that the finest weapons are crafted here."

"For the highest prices, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"The price they charge is nothing," said the boy stubbornly.

"Which explains why you were stealing it."

The dark-haired youth bit his lip, a nervous habit that accompanied a glare directed at the floor. Ezio chuckled at the familiarity of the boy's defiance and attitude. While most others would quickly get annoyed with the abrasive behaviour and rude disposition, the assassin only found it as a source of entertainment. Besides, it was hard to accept this outer facade as reality when he'd already met the true child within – the child who had mourned so desperately for his family.

"Do you know why the weapons are of high quality here?"

The boy managed to lift his stare, giving Ezio a quizzical look. Something about that look said the boy had an idea, but did not want to be wrong and therefore chose silence over guessing. Instead of answering, Ezio braced one hand against the back of the boy's chair and with the hidden blade of his other, cut the youth free.

The boy brought his hands around to his front, tense as if he was entertaining the idea of running, but confused at the sheer lack of a reaction for the people around him. None of them seemed all too surprised at the man's actions, though all eyes were on him.

Deciding to take the chance, the boy bolted down the hall for the door.

He didn't make it three steps before one of the novices closed the distance and slammed the boy into the floor after catching his arm.

"You won't escape without my consent, boy. You may be unbound, but in no way are you free."

"_Andate tutti a 'fanculo!"_

"Ezio, I do not like this boy. He is poor mannered and disrespectful. Throw him to the Borgia and let him fend for himself. What reason does he have to insult us so?"

The dark-armoured assassin chuckled, but more so at the surprise on the boy's face, visible when he rolled over and regarded the only familiar assassin with a look of astonishment. La Volpe had said his name, and this would have been the first time the youth heard it.

"Ezio?" the child echoed, scrambling warily to his feet but choosing not to try running this time.

Ezio nodded, smiling slyly.

The boy's face twisted into something that could be called fear, but it was muddled with an attempted look of disgust.

"This is the Assassin's Headquarters, _passero_. The weapons are of quality because they fall into our hands. They protect the lives of those who make them and serve the city of their craft. You could not have picked a poorer place to attempt to rob."

As if by some divine timing, an attractive woman stepped through door down the hall, pausing upon entering to cast a puzzled look to the commotion off to her left. A boy stood with his back to her, flanked by a pair of novices nearby. La Volpe and her elder brother stood farthest from Claudia Auditore, whose observant eyes flicked from the men to the novices to the boy at the heart of it all.

"What on earth is going on here?"

"Claudia, excellent timing." Ezio nodded his head in a quick greeting. "We seem to have found a little bird in our territory, trying to liberate us of our wares."

"A little bird?" echoed the woman, her eyes settling on the child. "This greasy-haired boy? What trouble is he?"

"None beyond an earsore, I assure you."

The Auditore female gave her brother an abashed look.

"Then why is he here? Let the poor _ragazzo_ go, Ezio!"

"Wait." The boy's voice was unusually bold, given the situation he was in, and had the attention of all who mattered as soon as he'd spoken. He turned from staring at the female stranger to giving the man who'd been repeatedly called 'Ezio' a hard look.

Ezio's sly smile widened just a fraction.

"This is the assassin's headquarters. You're assassins."

"That is correct, _monello,"_ it was not Ezio to speak, but La Volpe, who now stared down upon the boy with an unreadable look under his earth-toned hood. The boy did not return the attention, his green-eyed stare fixed only upon the dark-clad assassin, looking suspicious.

"So then _you_ must be Ezio Auditore, the assassin everyone is looking for. The...leader?" The boy spoke as if he wasn't entirely sure of the rank he was labeling the subject with.

"Something like that."

"_You_ are _the_ Ezio Auditore?"

"I am."

The boy's mouth opened again, then shut – quickly swallowing whatever remark had almost spilled from the tip of his tongue. He now looked far more wary and cautious of the situation.

A little more _afraid_.

"I could easily turn this location in. I could turn you all in to the Borgia."

"Could you? You've already tried running once, and that worked _so_ well. Not to mention we are _assassins_, boy. You wouldn't get far even if you managed an escape."

"Besides," said Claudia, approaching the child with a smile that resembled her elder brother's, "it's likely the Borgia know where we are, or at least have an idea. They choose not to attack us because that would be unwise. They cannot risk a civil war now. They are trying to unite Italia, not destroy it."

"Even if the methods they use to "unite" are violent and hypocritical," observed La Volpe, casting his cape over his shoulder.

"What's your name, boy?" asked Ezio, bringing his focus back on the dyed child.

"Passerini," was the flat response.

"Not the name of your family, but _yours_."

The boy pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, when he spoke, it was only to utter another curse. Ezio was suddenly overcome by an urge to biff the stubborn brat upside the head. All he asked for was a name. The boy's entertainment value was officially wearing out.

"Fine," Ezio waved a dismissive hand. "Assuming I let you leave, you're going to go straight to the Borgia?"

The boy said nothing and only continued to stare stubbornly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, boy," Ezio took a step towards the child, who instantly tensed. The Florentini's smile was gone, but not the apprehensive air that seemed to surround him. He feared not this child's glares or sharp tongue and he would not allow himself to be treated so poorly by someone so naive. With every word he spoke, the man got closer and closer to the tense boy in the middle of the hall, whose fists clenched tightly at his sides. "...But was it not the Borgia I _saved_ you from? Was it not the _Borgia _who stabbed your dear _madre_?"

"Ezio..." hissed Claudia, her maternal instincts already coming to the defense of the child, but Ezio held up a hand to still her tongue. The man stopped no more than a foot away from the ink-haired youth, his expression now carefully maintained as something stoic as he looked down to the shorter Italian.

"Was it not your _father_ the _Borgia_ suspended from the gallows? If my memory serves me correctly, were it not for me, that man would _still_ be there, that woman dumped somewhere in the river and you with far less attitude and a lot more blood _outside_ your body."

"Ezio!"

Over Claudia's reprimanding scold, the boy suddenly punched forward with a clenched fist, aiming to deck the taller man solidly across the face. Ezio was more than prepared, moving his head out of the way and lifting his hands to guide the fist away from his body, seize the momentum of the strike to grab the boy's arm, whirl him about and push the limb up into his back, only stopping when the child cried out in pain.

The hall was still and silent, almost as if everyone was holding their breaths – only to release it when Ezio shoved the boy away. He stumbled, only just managing to keep his balance and stay on his feet.

"If you so wish to return to the Borgia, be my guest."

The child turned, his expression grim and somehow – _somehow! – _still defiant.

"If you have nothing better to do then stand about and insult myself or my colleagues, I suggest you take your leave."

The tension in the air was heavy, even as the boy slowly backed away, bumping into Claudia and successfully surprising Ezio when he muttered a quick apology. Without another word, the ink-haired youth dashed for the door the woman had entered through, throwing it open and vanishing through it as if hell were at his heels.

When the door slammed behind him, Claudia whipped her unimpressed glare around to fix upon him.

"What?" Ezio chirped.

"You know very well, 'what,' Ezio!" In a matter of moments, the younger Auditore had crossed the space between them with brisk steps and smacked her brother on the arm. "He's just a kid!"

"An ill mannered kid with no sense of gratitude or respect."

"By what you just so kindly _shared_ with the rest of us, he's been having a rough time!"

The man held up his hands in defense, the novices wisely making themselves scarce.

"I offered my help to him once before, Claudia, and he responded then by thinking himself above me. After arriving here, attempting to steal from me, insulting our novices and my comrades with such utter disregard for his superiors, he's lucky I didn't kick him around the headquarters in a game of sport!"

The Auditore woman looked cross for a moment, mirroring the stubborn and unamused look she was getting from her brother. Eventually, her expression eased and she sighed, shaking her head.

"You sounded a lot like our padre, Ezio," something like to a smile momentarily graced the woman's face. "I'm pretty sure I recall him saying something similar to you once."

"_Davvero? _I thought it sounded familiar."

The woman nodded and let out another sigh, nostalgic at the thought of a happier time.

Then the moment was up and she smacked her elder brother on the arm once more.

"It was still harsh!"

* * *

><p>The rest of the day had been rather uneventful. Ezio had returned to Niccolo to convince him that sending a novice to catch a courier <em>would not<em> cripple the brotherhood. In exchange for allowing Machiavelli to choose which novice they sent, Ezio was able to ask if he had any information about a family that went by the name of Passerini.

"_Passerini?_" Niccolo had echoed, looking surprised to hear the name. "Why? What have they done?"

Ezio, equally surprised by Niccolo's response, returned the puzzled look.

"Are they the type of family to have 'done something'?"

"No, no. That's not it. They're the last family I would expect you to ask me about."

"Why?"

"They would never associate with the Borgia unless it was to see them fall. When you ask me about families, it's usually because you're looking into their untimely deaths."

"Well, preferably I won't be killing any Passerini's"

Niccolo snorted, as if in laughter.

"It's not like you could if you wanted to, Ezio. To my understanding, the last of the family was wiped out a few weeks ago."

This had the assassin's attention. He settled in the chair across from the man's desk and leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

"Oh?"

"The Passerini originates from one man who made money doing as we are in Roma. Before the Borgia, the Passerini family supported many of Roma's independent trades shops. When the Borgia moved in, the head of the family, Angelo Passerini fell ill and died shortly after. His eldest son was sentenced to death for the supposed sexual assault of a Borgian noblewoman. The next son was killed in a battle against the french," Niccolo paused to absently brush at some dust on his desk, "by a knife to the back."

"I see."

"Angelo's youngest son wisely went into hiding in the countryside shortly after the death of his elder brother. For a while, there were rumors that he turned to thievery and was working as an informant to the french. These rumors were enough to warrant for his execution on the grounds of treason to Roma. He was hanged on the very same day he was found."

This, Ezio noted, sounded more familiar and recent.

"Ah, was that the public hanging that occurred a few weeks ago?"

"Yes. The man was hanged and his wife and child listed as dead. There are whispers that the daughter of Angelo is still alive, outside of Roma, but those are mere whispers. As far as the public is concerned, the Passerini are dead."

"All of them?"

"Indeed."

Ezio cupped his hands together and pressed them against his lips in thought, directing a dissecting stare down into the hardwood desk.

"Why do you ask?"

Instead of directly answering Niccolo's question, Ezio flicked his stare up to the man and spoke slowly.

"What of the fortune?"

"_Che_?"

"Surely the money on which the Passerini flourished did not simply vanish, _vero_?"

"Si. To my knowledge, most of it is still contained within a vault in the Passerini estate. The Borgia cannot solve the mechanics designed to keep the vault impenetrable to non-Passerini members, so it is simply guarded."

"Until Leonardo can open it for them," muttered the assassin.

"Who?"

"Nevermind it, thank you for sharing this information with me, friend."

Niccolo leaned back, understanding that the seriousness of the conversation had worn off but still none the wiser as to why it had started at all.

"Anytime, Ezio. I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted to know?"

"In due time, Machiavelli."

As Ezio turned to leave, he heard Niccolo muttering something irritably behind him, then the rustling of papers as he returned to whatever research the man had interrupted him from.

* * *

><p>The evening was miserable. Upon exiting the headquarters, Ezio was instantly buffeted by a cold wind. The morning sun had vanished behind dark, heavy clouds. The city looked positively gray and the stone was damp. It had rained in the time Ezio had been indoors.<p>

The man advanced to the wooden ledge that served as a jumping point for the assassins. Instead of leaping straight off, he was stopped by the sight of something unfamiliar off to his right.

Against the gray sky was the familiar, smallish figure of the boy. He was sitting on the edge of the roof, his hands in his lap and his feet dangling over the side. His shoulders were hunched as if they were burdened by a weight and whatever rain Ezio had missed had caught the boy, for his hair was a dark, muddy colour with blonde beginning to peek through. His thin, gray shirt was damp and stained by black dye.

He looked positively miserable.

Silently, Ezio dropped from his vantage point to land on the roof with the boy. Without a word, he crossed the surface and sat beside him. If his sudden appearance had surprised the child, it didn't show. The youth didn't react, he simply kept staring downwards through half-lidded eyes. Being closer, the man realized that 'damp' didn't do the boy's condition justice. He was soaked through to the bone.

Despite this, neither Italian spoke. Ezio was content to sit in the silence and stare towards the city, while the boy didn't seem too eager to break the silence either.

Eventually, however, he did.

"Luca," said the boy.

"_Perdono?"_

"You asked my name."

"Indeed I did."

"It's Luca. Luca Passerini Da Roma."

"_E 'un onore incontrarvi_. I am Ezio Auditore."

The boy – Luca – nodded and braced his hands against the roof ledge. It was then that the man noticed how pale the youth was, though did not point it out.

"Why the change in hair colour?" he asked instead.

"The guards were suspicious of any street-wandering kid with blonde hair. Much more of one exploring the rooftops."

"Ah."

"It may be a poor job," he said, rubbing absently at his dye-leaking hair, and grimacing at the dark colour that came off on his fingers "but from a distance, it's convincing enough. I am left alone."

"We'll have to wash that out."

The boy gave him a sideways look, an annoyed frown in place.

"Why?"

"Because as an assassin, you hide in plain sight. You have no need to disguise yourself so."

"I'm not an assassin," Luca pointed out bluntly, returning his gaze to the city with a huff.

"No. You are not. But my offer still stands."

The boy was quiet, but Ezio knew he had his attention.

"If you are willing to learn, I am willing to teach you. You have the talent and the instinct."

"But I am young and foolish and in need of an attitude adjustment," Luca's change in pitch reminded Ezio that those were his own words coming from the boy's mouth.

"Yes you are, and I stand by all of those. But like you said, your youth can be your weapon."

This time, the boy turned his head to look at his elder, though he was careful to maintain his expression and give away very little of what he was thinking.

"If I accept," said the boy, "does that mean you will become my mentor?"

"I mentor all the assassins, so yes."

"Ah, that may very well be a reason to not join, then."

Ezio chuckled, refusing to allow the boy to irritate him.

"Then don't. I offer it to you because you are alone and your talents could be used for your own good and for the good others. I'm not going to force you into it, as it is your choice to make."

Slowly, Ezio let out a long breath and went to stand on the roof edge. He hesitated there, his eyes still on the buildings of Roma across the river.

"You know, when I was barely an adult, I lost my brothers and my father to the rope."

Luca said nothing.

"I was angry and hurt. I only wanted to take what I still had and live free. My uncle found me, took us in and taught me how to defend myself. He then gave me a choice."

Ezio deliberately waited until the boy looked up before continuing.

"I could continue my plans to run away from the problem, or I could accept what had happened and face it directly."

"What did you...?"

"I chose the latter."

There was a long pause before Luca spoke, still looking up to the assassin and sounding curious.

"...And was it the right choice?"

"It was the only choice suited for me. I could never keep running and hiding. I would shame my brothers, my father and our name as the Auditore."

Another silence settled over the rooftop, and Ezio stood still to listen contently to it for a few long moments. Eventually, he moved, dashing up the wall to grab the next roof and pull himself up. As he clambered onto the top, he heard the boy shift behind him. He turned.

Luca was standing, his hands in his pockets and his head low. Dark dye from his hair slid down his face and dripped to his shirt, staining the formerly bright fabric. When he lifted his head, he was frowning again, but the look in his green eyes hardly reflected his miserable appearance. His eyes held that defiant spark, the determined look that defined him as the stubborn, relentless ruffian he was.

"I will not make this easy for you," he said simply.

"Then you will not be making it easy for yourself."

"I can live with that."

"In that case, I will take _extra_ care to ensure _nothing_ is easy for you."

Something that might've been a smile fit into place on the boy's jaw.

"It's a promise."

"Welcome to the brotherhood, _passero_."

* * *

><p><strong>Guys.<br>Guys.  
>Friends<br>Readers  
>Comrades<br>Companions  
>Amigo-ses.<br>Guess what?**

**REVELATIONS ON TUESDAY!**

**Also, please review. I love hearing your thoughts :3 **


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